You Don't Own Me
by fifiones
Summary: '60s AU. At the height of the Feminist Revolution, Fiona is expected to marry Bobby Beckonridge once they are both of age. She plays along even though she is extremely unhappy because she doesn't think she has any say. But, she is beginning to see the world differently and discover something new about herself. triggers: domestic abuse & a very slight mention of noncon sex


In the wake of the Second Wave Feminist movement, Fiona Coyne still finds herself essentially betrothed to the ever-so charming son of a connecting family. Only being sixteen, she is expected to marry Bobby Beckonridge once she's eighteen. He'll bring in the money working for his father's law firm, and she'll be the doting wife and mother; _a trophy wife. _

But, she doesn't want to be a trophy wife. She wants _more_. She wants something…_different._ But, she's trapped. Trapped by her parents, who constantly remind her of her fate. Trapped by Bobby as he grasps her arm, pulling her alongside him; putting her on display at the latest social function as she is forced to smile and play along.

The socialite stands in the crowded room at the cocktail party her parents are throwing, relieved to have even a moment free of him. She sips on her glass of champagne as she overlooks the party, her eyes drawn to a waitress cleaning up after the night's guests. The brunette notes how cute she is, confused at the thought and the feelings arising within her. Bringing the glass to her lips, trying to ignore whatever this is she's feeling.

Whatever it is, Fiona finds herself walking toward the girl; perhaps finding the courage to do so in the bottom of a glass of champagne. Finishing off the last of the bubbly beverage as she approaches, she sits the empty glass on the table right in the line of the young waitress's vision.

"Hey," the curly-haired girl speaks, feeling nervous as she takes a look around them real quick; being sure that no one is looking in their direction. The waitress looks up, completely bewildered as to why the diplomat's daughter is talking to her, _the help_ of all people.

"Uh…Hi," she stammers out as she examines the exquisitely courageous girl. Reaching a hand out for the empty glass the socialite had set before her just moments before, "Do you need another glass?"

Fiona smiles at her, shaking her head. "No; I'm just fine, thank you" she speaks, maintaining her prim and proper persona. In truth, she would like another glass; but, that's not what she came over here for. Her eyes flicker down to the empty glass, the cute waitress's hand grasped around it. Reaching her own hand out, Fiona gently places it atop of the other girl's carefully pulling it up to examine the bracelet on her arm.

"That's a lovely bracelet," Fiona comments; and even though the one bracelet on her own arm probably costs more than every piece of jewelry this girl owns, she means it. Though, she wants to say '_you're_ lovely' she refrains.

The girl blushes a bit, looking down as she gently pulls back her arm. Taking in a deep breath as she tries to control her her wildly-beating heart. She moves to pick up the empty glass once more, placing onto her tray. "Thanks," she responds, looking around to be sure no one is watching.

"I should, uh, really get back to work," she speaks before lifting her tray up. But, Fiona quickly moves to stop her. "Why the rush? Don't worry, I won't let you get in trouble" she assures her, watching as she relaxes slightly. Biting her lip, she decides to introduce herself — as if she needs introduction. "I'm Fiona," she extends her hand out for a handshake; mostly for an excuse to touch her soft skin again.

"I'm Imogen," the waitress speaks as she gently grasps Fiona's hand. They both feel a spark ignite within them at the touch; something very unfamiliar to Fiona. She's never felt that with guys before, _especially_ not Bobby. It's then that she realizes this is what other girl's must be referring to when they speak about their boyfriends or crushes.

"Actually, why don't we find somewhere more _private_ to talk?" Fiona suggests as a waiter passes by, stopping him. "Excuse me?" she calls out, gaining his attention. Carefully pulling the tray away from Imogen, she hands it over to him. "Could you take this, please?" He looks confused; but, obliges nonetheless, not about the question the daughter of one of the most influential families in possibly the whole world.

"Oh—_okay_," Imogen speaks slowly, rather confused. Once the waiter is out of sight, Fiona grabs hold of Imogen's hand and leads her up the stairs. "Don't worry, no one will come up here."

Fiona leads Imogen into her bedroom, closing the door. Flicking on the light, she turns to face the girl. Staring at the girls lips, she can't stop thinking about kissing them. She let's her gaze wander up to Imogen's eyes, catching her staring at her lips before meeting her eyes.

Her heartbeat quickens as she takes a step closer, unsure of what is compelling her to do this. Imogen steps a bit closer as well, and they both lean in. Lips meeting seconds later, Fiona kisses her with more passion than she's ever kissed anybody before. That spark she felt when their hands touched before igniting further into a fiery blaze.

Placing her hands on the girl's waist, Fiona kisses her more deeply; pushing her back against the door. Feeling Imogen's hands on her own waist, a tingle starts from her waist flowing throughout her body. She longs to be touched in more places, to feel the girl's soft, bare skin on her own.

The socialite's hands rest on the waistband of the girl's skirt to her waitress uniform, testing the waters a bit before beginning to untuck her shirt. Hoping she's not moving too fast, and getting her answer when she feels the girl's hands begin to wander along her back finding the zipper to her dress.

Fiona's hands touch Imogen's bare skin, before moving to unbutton the white blouse she's wearing as quickly as she can manage. Meanwhile, Imogen tugs down the zipper on Fiona's dress her hands making contact with bare skin. Fiona begins to push away Imogen's blouse, and the girl moves her arms back allowing her to remove it. Fiona removes her dress, leaving her in only her bra and underwear.

Breathing deeply, the two girl's examine each other's bodies. Fiona moves to remove Imogen's skirt, making them equal. Reattaching her lips to each other, the socialite pulls Imogen backwards until the back of her knees hit the edge of her bed. Pulling her down on top of her, Fiona's hands wander along the girl's body slipping into her underwear.

Imogen gasps against Fiona lips, breaking their kiss only briefly. Fiona smirks as she continues her movements, her own body aching for the touch of the girl's hands on her sensitive area. As if reading her mind, Imogen reaches a tentative hand down between Fiona's thighs.

Breaking their kiss for another brief moment, Fiona looks into Imogen's eyes; giving her reassurance. "It's okay, just follow your instincts," she speaks in between ragged breaths. Imogen smiles softly, before placing her lips on Fiona's neck; seeming to find her sweet spot with ease, she slips her hand into the silky material on her body.

Fiona moans out as she rocks her hips against the girl's hand. Trying to move her own hand in-between Imogen's thighs, realizing the cotton underwear is slowing her down. Moving her hands to the waistband, she begins to slide them down.

"I think we should get these out of the way, hm?" She suggests as Imogen pulls away from her neck, smirking at her with a nod. "Yeah," as she moves to let them slip all the way off. Then, slipping off Fiona's before reattaching her lips to the girl's soft, delicate neck. Wrapping her hands around the girl's back, she unhooks her bra; removing it entirely. Stopping to let Fiona remove her bra, she leans back down to place soft kisses along her body down to her breasts.

Her hand going back in between Fiona's thighs as she sucks on her nipple; hoping she's doing everything right, and by the girl's moans she'd she is. Fiona maneuvers her hand in between the petite girl's thighs, wanting to give her the same pleasure she's getting.

Soon enough, their both writhing and panting. Their hips rocking against each other's hands. Fiona's feeling things she's never felt before in her times with Bobby. It was always about him, and not about what she wanted. If it was, they wouldn't have even been doing it at all.

Eventually, it all unravels for them. They collapse in pleasure, their bodies still reacting from the aftershock as they catch their breaths.

"Wow," Imogen gasps, as she moves to lay next to Fiona. "That was…" she trails off.

"Amazing" Fiona finishes for her. "The best sex I've ever had." She's panting, as she looks up at the ceiling. She wishes this didn't have to end.

Imogen turns to look towards the girl, surprised at her comment. "You've… done this before?" She sounds surprised as she raises a brow.

"Yeah. Well, not _this_ specifically but," she pauses as she takes in the look in the other girl's eyes. "You…haven't? This was your first time?" She asks with slight concern, hoping this wouldn't be an issue.

Imogen purses her lips, looking away as she nods. "Yeah…But you shouldn't feel weird or guilty or anything" Imogen is quick to assure her. "So, Mr. Fancy-rich-boy doesn't do it for you?"

Fiona laughs, though she knows she really shouldn't be. "God, no" she answers honestly, and it feels good to be honest with someone. "He's, uh… not exactly what everyone thinks he is. _I'm _not exactly what everyone thinks I am."

Afraid of what that first part means, exactly; Imogen chooses to focus on the second part, cocking her head to the side in intrigue, "So, who exactly are you, then?"

Fiona turns to face toward the ceiling again, shrugging with a slight shake of her head. "I don't know."


End file.
